There Is, In The End, The Letting

And So I Went Through The Looking Glass, Stepped Into The Netherworld, Where Up Is Down And Food Is Greed, Where Convex Mirrors Cover The Walls, Where Death Is Honor And Flesh Is Weak. It Is Ever So Easy To Go. Harder To Find Your Way Back.

I Think Many People With A Chronic Illness Would Prefer Not To Have Their Chronic Illness, Simply Because It's High Maintenance.

Madness Is Not What It Seems. Time Stops. All My Life I've Been Obsessed With Time, Its Motion And Velocity, The Way It Works You Over, The Way It Rushes You Onward, A Pebble Turning In A Brook. I've Always Been Obsessed With Where I'd Go, And What I'd Do, And How I Would Live. I've Always Harbored A Desperate Hope That I Would Make Something Of Myself. Not Then. Time Stopped Seeming So Much Like The Thing That Would Transform Me Into Something Worthwhile And Began To Be Inseparable From Death. I Spent My Time Merely Waiting.

I Wish I Could Find Words To Explain What This Kind Of Cold Is Like- The Cold That Has Somehow Gotten In Underneath Your Skin And Is Getting Colder And Colder Inside You.

I Am Often Drawn To What Appear At First To Be 'dark' Or 'difficult' Subjects, But Which, Upon Further Examination, Are Always And Only Reflections Of The Ways Human Beings Attempt, However Clumsily, Badly, Or Well, To Connect With Others.